


A short vacation

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Banter, Best Friends, Comedy, Feel-good, Gen, Hancock is a wingman, Light-Hearted, Platonic Relationship, unnamed SS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 22:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hancock can't believe the Sole Survivor, one of the best people he knows, has managed to stay celibate for over 210 years. That seems like a great injustice.They get to talking.A super short, feel-good fic about friends talking about sex. Lots of banter.





	A short vacation

**Author's Note:**

> does anyone drink like five cups of coffee in a row even though you only wanted one because the can is going cold and it feels like a waste to just throw it out?

The Commonwealth sprawled out beneath their feet in all it’s colourful, irradiated glory. Hancock took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of dust, metal and decay, and felt at home.

She always brought him along when she went to Corvega. He knew the place as well as Goodneighbour by now. Why raiders kept returning there he had no idea; it had been cleared so many times by the General and her minutemen that you could smell the corpses from Graygarden.

“Back at it again, huh?” he asked the crouched figure in front of him. She was peering through the scope of her sniper rifle, picking out the turrets, counting the heads.  
  
“Eeeh-yup. They just don’t learn.”

He definitely understood why the raiders took up there in the first place. The old Corvega assembly plant was big, whole, easily defendable and right in the middle of three well-stocked settlements. He got why another gang would take up there after the general cleaned out the first ones. Why the third, the fourth and the fifth gangs all decided to crawl in there once their predecessors had been dispatched, he didn’t understand.  
“Cleaning out Corvega” had become an inside joke among the Minutemen by now. New recruits arriving in Sanctuary, Greygarden or Starlight Drive-In would often be assigned Corvega as an entry exam, and the older officers used it as a euphemism for pissing, something Hancock had proudly brought back to Goodneighbour to the delight of Fahrenheit, who claimed to be “cleaning out Corvega” whenever anyone asked her to do something she didn’t feel like.  
So here they were, cock(ed guns) in hand, cleaning out Corvega.

“So, tell me boss, when’s the last time you had a vacation, huh?”

She rested her rifle on the rock in front of her and looked back at him. He wouldn’t say she looked _bad_ , he liked her too much for that, but she was tired. The scars, freckles and bloodshot eyes had their own kind of weathered charm, but it was difficult to make out under all that dirt. When they first met she had been fond of drawing black lines around her eyes, but now there were just the purple rings that came with not enough sleep.

“Vay-cay-tion? Tell me, what it mean, this word?”  
Her impression of Curie made him laugh.  
  
“I’m just saying, seems like every time I see you, you got something to do.”  
He pitched his voice up in an offensive parody of her.  
  
“I can’t drink, Hancock, another settlement needs my help,”  
“Keep your jet, Hancock, there’s fifteen super mutant behemoths waiting for me down the river,”  
“Hey Hancock, wanna go out? I hear there’s thirteen hundred raiders in power armour down in Quincy, and I want to make radio beacons with their mini nukes!”

She laughed that low, wheezy laughter he had grown so familiar with, the rifle shaking in her hands.

“Hey, you’re stepping-“  
“ _I’m just saying_ , when’s the last time you went out? Had a few, talked some shit? Christ, when’s the last time you _fucked_?”

She turned around and crossed her legs, taking her hat off and putting it on her knee. He sat down as well. The raiders down the hill could wait a little longer.

“That would be…”  
She chewed on her words.  
“… Roughly… A bit over two hundred and ten years ago, by now.”  
Christ. It was worse than he thought.

“You haven’t fucked since you got out of the vault?”  
“Yeah, no. I’ve been pretty busy.”  
“No, see, that’s the problem, sister. You haven’t been busy enough. If I had to stay chaste for two hundred years I’d be so pent up they’d pick bits of me off the ceiling.”  
She laughed again.  
“I spend all day pummelling people to death. That doesn’t give stress much chance of piling up.”  
“Not sure if that’s a healthy connection to be making, boss.”

She was lying, he knew. Beneath those gloves her nails were chewed to the root, she was constantly picking scabs and scars, her restless hands were grabbing at the earth as they spoke to find something to fidget with. No one would call the general “anxious” to her face, but she was. She was restless, on edge, ready to break any face that let her get close enough for less than an insult.  
Sex wouldn’t fix that, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Why, though? Why the celibacy? Who are you holdin’ out for-“

Oh. Hancock could have kicked himself for that.  
He watched her brush some hair out of her eyes with her right hand, and the wedding ring he knew she wore seemed to glimmer and shine beneath a leather glove.

“Shit, I mean-“  
“No, it’s fine. It is.”

She sounded earnest. Hancock became suddenly aware that he was stepping into unmarked territory, like he had opened that giant, cog-shaped vault door and peered into her past. The part of her that had been a housewife before the bombs. The part of his boss that didn’t have to pummel raiders or build turrets, but spent her days caring for the infant son she lost, in the house she shared with her husband.

He tried to backtrack.  
“What’s your type, anyway?”  
His mouth kept speaking against his direct orders.  
“What… What was he like?”

She smiled again (always smiling, always understanding), but there was a touch of melancholy to it.

“Nate? He was… Kind. He had a bit of a hero complex, always out to save the world, but he was that kind of good that you just don’t see any more. No one were beneath him, nothing was too difficult. Even… Even after he came back from the war,”  
  
She closed her eyes. Hancock was afraid he was finally going to see her cry.  
  
“He was still kind. His eyes were wild, he didn’t rest, after Shaun was born he would fall asleep in the chair next to his crib almost every night, afraid of something only he could see. But he was still the man I married.”

Hancock wished he could take the entire conversation back. This touchy-feely stuff had never been his area of expertise.  
Then again, he had asked. She seemed comfortable telling. Maybe he could steer the conversation back home, to somewhere that didn’t hurt to think about.

“He sounds a lot like you.”  
She opened her eyes. He was glad to see no tears.  
“Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I guess that’s why we got along so well. But, uh, bringing it back to what you asked, I guess I’m a fucking narcissist. My type is myself.”  
“Would you fuck a synth you?”  
“Dude _, in a heartbeat_.”

The metaphorical vault-doors closed, and they were both back in the Commonwealth. Once again, his companion was her stressed-out, badass, do-gooder self, and he was her witty and handsome sidekick. Just like it should be.

“You know, if you’re willing to lower your standards, I could set you up.”  
She looked at him over the back of her hand, smiling her usual smile. There always seemed to be a bit of laughter in those eyes.  
“What, with my synth self?”  
“Wait, is that a thing?”  
“Not that I know.”  
“Shit, you scared me for a second. If there were two of you the world might explode.”  
“… Into _awesome_.”

“Look, sister, if I’m gonna be your wingman I need some idea of what you like. “Good people doing good stuff” ain’t nearly specific enough. How about… Guy or girl?”  
The general had found a straw and was currently dissecting it between her fingers, an expression of deep thought on her face.  
“I… Don’t think I really care, honestly.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Guessin’ you ain’t picky about looks either? I mean,”  
He gestured to his own face.  
“You’re running with me.”  
She snorted.  
“Hancock, you’re a hunk, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. A stallion of the wastes. The Goodneighbour tourism board is just a poster of your face.”  
_What the fuck is a stallion._

“C’mon Hancock, we’ve been running this show for ages. You know me. Who do you think I’d like?”  
He thought about it, tapping his fingers on the cracked ground.  
“I mean, there’s me.”  
“Yes, but no.” She shook her head.  
“You and I, we’re…”  
“Not like that,” he finished for her, and marvelled at how easy it felt to acknowledge. No tension or excuses, no unsaid “what if”s in the air between them, just a real nice kind of friendship.  
Ugh, he was going soft.  
  
“I mean, you like the hero types, right? How ‘bout miss smarthat at the castle?”  
“Preston?” the thought made her chuckle.  
“Preston “I thought you were a guy at first” Garvey?”  
“He said that?”  
“For _months_ , Hancock. I was general for _two months_ before he caught on.”

“Curie, then? She’s cute.”  
The general immediately switched to her unkind, but extremely accurate, Curie impression.  
“Ah, madame, what scienze is there to be done in ze bedroom? Ah, I see you have moved close to me, I shall analyse this for ze future. Shutting down.”

“If you want someone who can keep up, and ain’t your truly, how about Cait?”  
“Last time we went out together she got angry because I told a little girl I’d find her cat, and even angrier when I didn’t kill it. She was also with me during that “kid in a fridge” shebang and sulked for days because I helped him home. Cait, she’s… Strong, but, uh…”

“Yeah. Hey, talking about Strong…”  
“He can’t carry a conversation and he has no cock.”  
“What the- How do you know?”  
“Moving on.”  
  
“All right. That’s fine. Leave me with that mental image. I’m guessin’- hoping- that Danse isn’t a candidate?”  
“You’re right. I think he hates me.”  
“Oh no love, he can’t hate you. You’re a perfectly preserved, 100% clean, top shelf human being. You’re like a Brotherhood wet dream.”  
“Not happening.”  
“You know, thinking about it, I’m pretty sure he would go for it.”  
“Hancock, listen to me. If me and Danse were the last people on earth, I’d reconsider my views on bestiality.”

Nothing made Hancock laugh like talking shit about Danse. He was also becoming increasingly aware of how long it had been since they had a real conversation, and how good it felt to relax with her again. It was like she was finally taking some time off.

“Uh… McCready?”  
“We’re practically siblings.”  
  
“Piper? Nice, easy on the eyes, can-do attitude…”  
“Got the same problem. We’re sisters now, no going back.”  
  
“Nick, then.”  
“Nick has… Some stuff to deal with. I don’t think he’ll want someone for a long time.”

“Deacon is fun.”  
“Deacon is too guarded. I’ve known him for ages and I barely know anything about him.”

“Fuckin’… Codsworth?”  
“ _Codsworth_?!”

He threw his hand up in the air.  
“All right, all right. I get it. You’re an unfuckable hag with morals and a massive extended family.”  
“Oh wow, look who’s talking, Mr Radface! And to think I called you a stallion earlier!”  
The insults were all in good fun, though, and soon they settled into a comfortable silence. Hancock was mentally going through every friend they had in common. Turns out, even with his big list of contacts, everyone they knew had been sorted into two categories: “Family” and “Foe”. Having a network of people you trusted was a rare and precious thing in the apocalypse, but it did limit your romance options.

He sighed.  
“I’m sorry, boss. Seems the legendary wingman has met his match; the best woman in the Commonwealth is doomed to date her hand for the foreseeable future.”  
“Aw, Hancock,” she smiled.  
“You think I’m the best?”  
“The best _woman_. I’m still firmly the king of the world, and don’t you forget it.”  
“I couldn’t if I tried.”

She put her hat back on and pulled the sniper rifle into her lap, signalling the end of their stolen vacation. He swung his shotgun from his back and made sure it was loaded.  
As he watched her line up the shot to take out the rooftop turrets (why build them in the same place? Every time?) he made a mental note to talk to Magnolia. No best friend of his was going unfucked for 200 years.

“Ready to work out some issues?” she mumbled against her weapon.  
“You know it.”


End file.
